He sat down quietly beside her on the stump and drew the dog over to him.
After a little he asked timidly:
“What are you going to do, Ruth? You can’t stay here. I’ll tend your stock and look after the place for you. But you just can’t stay here.”
“You?” she questioned finally. “You’re going to that Albany school next week. You said you were all ready.”
“I was all ready. But I ain’t going. I’ll stay here and work the two farms for you.”
“For me?” she said. “And not be a lawyer at all?”
“I––I don’t care anything about it any more,” he lied. “I told mother this morning that I wasn’t going. She said she’d have you come and stay with her till Spring.”
“And then?” the girl faced the matter, looking straight and unafraid into his eyes. “And then?”
“Well, then,” he hesitated. “You see, then I’ll be twenty. And you’ll be old enough to marry me,” he hurried. “Your father, you know, he always wanted me to take care of you, didn’t he?” he pleaded, awkwardly but subtly.